This and That
by EEevee
Summary: A collection of Hetalia ficlets. Various pairings, ratings, and themes. The majority are fluffy or humorous for the moment. Lots of America.
1. In the Closet

Title: In the Closet

Rating: G

Characters: England, America, Canada, mentions of France

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: None.

A/N: America is modeled after my boss' devil child. Didn't quite go the way I intended but cute anyway.

"Shh!"

"But…"

"S'okay." The boy patted the other encouragingly, not noticing when the smaller twin stumbled from his gesture. "England won't notice."

The smaller twin fidgeted, clutching his bear to his chest, "But stealing is wrong."

The other twin shrugged and gave a small grin, "Not if you don't get caught."

The bigger twin turned his attention to the high counter with the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Nodding, he quickly scampered to the table and picked up a chair. Despite his small size, he easily hefted the chair so he didn't have to drag it and make noise. He set it down soundlessly, a gesture of practice, and clambered up to grab the cookie jar. His small palms wrapped around the lid and he pulled out four cookies. He handed two down to his partner in crime.

Canada stood awkwardly holding the cookies in one hand and dangling the bear in the crook of the other. His little face was torn with uncertainty and he looked at the cookie like it might bite him. He knew it wouldn't; after all, papa France had made it, not England.

America jumped down near-silent and quickly placed the chair back at the table. His face was split in a huge remorseless grin and he stuffed both cookies in his mouth. Chewing with his mouth open and his blue eyes squinted in pure bliss at the sweet treat, he hardly noticed that his brother was staring behind him.

"And just what do you think you are doing?" a frosty voice clipped from the doorway.

Canada promptly dropped his cookies from his nerveless fingers. England was _scary_. His big, bushy eyebrows were scrunched up menacingly and his green eyes were glaring holes in the back of America's blond head.

Guilelessly, America turned around, mouth empty but face covered in crumbs, "Eating cookies."

"And didn't I tell you that those were for after dinner?"

"Yeah, but we were hungry now!" America argued and Canada squeaked.

"We?" England asked, taking a step forward. His big boots crunched heavily on the wooden floor and Canada yelped. He dropped his bear and scrambled around the bigger nation. He had been bad. England, apparently not expecting this, yelled and stomped after him, "Well, you two, you should know better!"

Canada bolted into the closest closet and shut the door. He shivered, afraid of the dark, but mostly afraid that he had been so bad that England would get rid of him. He clutched the clothing hanging in there blindly and curled up into a little ball. He had been so bad that Papa France got rid of him and now England would too. England wasn't too mean to him… but he liked America better and… and… maybe America was better. America was strong and cheerful and fearless.

A small sob escaped from his throat and he rocked slowly wishing he hadn't dropped his bear. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he tried to melt into the clothing in the closet. He could smell the leather from the shoes and the cottony scent from the cloth and it was comforting. Slowly his little sobs turned into hiccups and his blue eyes started to drop. His tummy rumbled but just thinking of the pilfered cookies wound him up again.

Slowly the door creaked open and he inched away from the light. He expected a big hand to come down and catch him by the collar. After all, he had been so bad and he needed to be punished.

Closing his eyes, he huddled down, and was very surprised with something soft and squishy landed on his head. Cracking an eye, he stared into a black, blank button. His bear. He squeaked and grabbed the stuffed animal to his chest.

America shoved the door open and crawled into the closet with him. He pulled the door shut so there was only a crack. He put an arm around Canada's shoulder awkwardly and stared into his face. "Why're you in here?"

"Cause I was bad."

America cocked his head, "Eh, England's not _that_ mad. 'Sides, France gave those cookies to you."

"B-but, he said to wait and I didn't. And—and I…" Canada gasped and gulped out the word, "_Stole_ them."

"I got them down." America pointed out, clueless. He clearly couldn't see how big a transgression it was to steal.

Canada hadn't known his brother long, but he knew it was a lost cause trying to explain to him why it was bad. Why he was bad. America just wouldn't get it. And now he'd be sent away for being a bad boy. His lip wobbled again and he buried his face in the bear's head.

America looked over in confusion and tried to pat Canada's shoulder with his hand. "You're not bad. You're good."

"Really?" Canada risked a quick glance up at his brother. America was nodding and patting. "But… I was bad and England will give me away like Papa France did."

"You're the bestest brother a hero could have ever." America added enthusiastically giving him a hug with both arms. "You didn't blame me or nothing. So England can't do that."

Canada gave a shy smile and hugged back.

The door creaked open and England loomed over them. Canada hid behind his brother and peered out fearfully. America looked up and balled his fists making sure Canada was behind him.

"You're not getting him." America declared, "He's my bestest brother ever, and you can't take him!"

"What in the world are you going on about America?" England asked looking perplexed with his eyebrow arched slightly. He looked between the two and sighed, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Canada. But, honestly, you should know better. What has France been teaching you?"

America, satisfied, took out a cookie and broke it in half. He started munching on one half while offering the other towards Canada.

England's face went bright red and Canada blindly shoved America towards the closet door. Then he shut it and smiled into his bear.

France loved him. America loved him. And England wasn't going get rid of him.

Giggling softly, he brought the half of the cookie that America had shoved at him while flying out the door into his mouth.


	2. Office hours are for work

Title: Office hours are for work

Rating: T for sexual themes

Characters: GermanyxItaly, brief camo of Prussia

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: The 'm' word? And silliness with a bit of fluff.

A/N: Written for my friend as a reward for behaving herself… And then she had the gall to ask me for another. Inspired by the strip where Japan invents the thought-reading googles.

"Germany~!" Italy burst in wildly, a smile on his face and his hair curl bouncing wildly. He entered the room full tilt, ready to tell Germany all about his morning when he screeched to an undignified halt. He stared at the blond man curiously as he jumped like a scalded cat.

Italy blinked a few times not really understanding the garbled speech Germany was shouting at him. Something about 'it's not what it looks like' and 'don't you ever knock?'

"Ve~," he said slowly, "I'll come back later."

If anything that made Germany sputter even more wildly, turning bright red, but there wasn't much he could do after being caught with his pants down.

Italy slowly closed the door and tapped his lip. That looked awfully uncomfortable; maybe Germany didn't know how to do it correctly. Maybe he needed help. Italy considered it for a few more seconds and blushed slightly. Yes, that must be it. He needed help loosening up a little because German was so strict he must be having a hard time.

So Italy pushed the door open to find the pants back on (along with the belt) and Germany wiping his hand on some papers.

"Do you need help?" Italy inquired, watching him in perplexity. He eyed the man's front and knew that he wasn't done. That had to be highly uncomfortable, especially since Germany always wore such tight, restricting pants.

"N-no," Germany sputtered sounding alarmed, "I-I… it was n-nothing. Nothing."

"Ve~ I could give you some tips." Italy offered, beaming. He didn't wait for an answer as he pranced over to the larger country and laid his hand directly over the pants. Germany yelped and hit the hard chair behind him. He winced, biting his lip.

"N-no!"

"But… but you're not _happy_. And you should be." Italy pointed out stubbornly. He was already working on getting the belt back off. His fingers hit Germany's and the bigger man grabbed his wrist. He winced and obediently stopped in confusion. That couldn't be comfortable!

"I-It's f-fine… fine!" Germany snapped with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His face was turning a distinct magenta color and Italy wondered how much of those gasps of air he was getting in.

Well, he could help with that too.

After all, Germany was his friend.

Seeing as he wasn't gaining access, Italy decided it might be more effective to simply show Germany some techniques. Things that wouldn't be so painful. The moment his hands hit his pants Germany made a strangely strangled sound and fell off the chair.

Italy just watched for a moment before deciding that this was getting nowhere. He had never seen Germany so animated, and he found it a little disturbing. The other country was getting awfully worked up, but it wasn't going to take care of his problem.

"Germany." Italy frowned and reached down to put a hand on Germany's shoulder. Instantly the bigger country stiffened and Italy took this as a good sign. At least now he could say something. "That is not how you masturbate."

Germany all but stopped breathing.

"You have to be gentle." Italy said firmly giving a nod. "I can help."

Then Germany did stop breathing.

"Hey, hey! Germany!" Italy's lip quibbled and he looked around for help. Luckily the lack of air snapped the blond nation out of his stupor and he gasped and gagged. Italy rubbed small circles on his back and muttered encouragement as best he could. He still didn't understand why Germany was behaving so strangely.

When Germany finally stopped sounding like a drowning fish he collected himself and sat on the chair. His blue eyes were bloodshot and he peered down at Italy. He stared for a moment before looking away.

"You saw nothing."

"Oh, it's okay! Everyone does it." Italy reassured cluelessly. "If you just…"

"No. Get out."

Italy's lip quivered again and he looked hurt. He was just trying to help. But he realized Germany wasn't very good at accepting help. It didn't mean he didn't need it, but he wasn't very good at saying thank you. Italy caught his cowardly lip and gave a firm nod. That was it. He would appreciate the help later. Maybe he was embarrassed to be so clumsy~? Or maybe he was imagining a partner he wished he had? Italy flushed a little at that.

Instead of leaving he moved closer. Germany rolled his eyes seeming a little more normal but Italy could see he was still nervous. He gently grabbed Germany's big hand noting the calluses and scars that covered the weathered skin. Fascinated by the wrinkles and creases, he delicately traced across the palm with his slender finger. Germany looked like he wanted to snatch his hand back but his eyes were slightly glassy.

Italy smiled knowingly.

He gently pushed back on Germany's shoulder and the other hardly resisted at all.

The smile grew wider.

Helping was much easier if the other party was cooperative.

He was halfway out of his pants, explaining things as he went, when Germany blinked and looked up. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. A flush spread across his face and Italy giggled, continuing his explanation. It was nice to teach Germany something, since Germany was always teaching him things, like how to fight and how to keep things tidy and…

Italy squeaked as Germany tried to pull his pants up.

"Italy, stop." Germany almost begged. "I know—" he coughed slightly and looked away, "what I was doing. I don't need help."

"Ve~? You didn't look—mmmph."

He licked the offending hand making Germany jerk his hand back and narrow his eyes.

"But if Germany says so, then it must be true." Italy finished.

Germany nodded.

And was not expecting the full weight of the smaller country to come crashing down on him. He grunted as he hit the floor and the warm body landed on top of him. He growled in protest and looked up at the wide, innocent brown eyes gazing down. A bit of a smile graced the smaller country's lips and his curl bobbed slightly.

"What the--." Germany snarled then made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as the fabric rubbed across his abused naval. He tried to reach up to remove the Italian that was now rubbing against him like a cat against a tree. Unfortunately, he had fallen on his right arm, effectively pinning it under him.

Italy blinked, pausing, before saying in a matter-of-fact voice, "Let me. I'm better."

Germany wanted to reach up and shake the aggravating little… but he considered it and realized what the smaller country said was probably true. Germans had a certain… reputation… and it wasn't a good one. While Italians had a much better ranking. Still, he didn't need _help_ jacking off. Because he didn't _jack off_. Italy must have misconstrued what he was doing with his… paperwork.

Just like he didn't sit there and indulge in… well, whatever it was that Italy was doing to him that made him all hot and shaky and moaning like a woman of the night.

Italy giggled, sliding down then inching back up. He pressed light kisses all over the German's face and neck. He tickled his fingers up the muscular sides. He was pretty much having a wonderful time being playful as a kitten that had a forbidden object in its paws.

Italy was having a wonderful time, although it concerned him a little that Germany was starting to change colors again. He wasn't doing anything that deserved hyperventilating. But he had given up trying to orally explain the proper way to go about pleasing oneself because Germany didn't look like he was _listening_. Well, maybe he was a hands-on learner. Italy always had better luck learning something if he _did it._

Germany was certain that the floor should be hard and that the room should not be spinning quite the way it was. He was also quite sure that this was actually much better than anything he had experienced recently, and it was so embarrassing that he could even think that without blushing. But he felt like if his blood rushed anywhere else at any speed above normal it might come gushing out. He had flushed, blushed, and had blood pooling rapidly at other locations in his body too much already today.

"Italy…" he groaned softly, trying to push the overenthusiastic nation off of him. Anyone could walk in and then where would they be? Granted, nothing had really happened and what had felt really good—_really good_—but he had to be sensible here. This was an office and anyone could walk in.

"Mmm?" the younger nation hummed while nuzzling behind his ear. He wiggled a bit as the warm air rushed against his skin. There were other places he'd rather have that attention. What? No!

"This is not the place."

"Ve~ a bed would be softer," the smaller country agreed, "but you were here."

"What I mean is…" Germany had to think fast. "This is not appropriate."

All he got in return for an answer was some more full frontal rubbing and a few kisses on the nose. And was Italy patting his head like a dog?

"Mmm. Don't worry. I'll explain."

Italy would most certainly not do any explaining about why they were writhing around on the floor like a pair of cats in heat. Because he would probably say something of that exact nature in his explanation, about how it was natural and he was being a good _friend_.

Germany groaned, partly in excitement but mostly from exasperation. He moved his larger frame, unpinning his arm, which had started to tingle, and placed a big palm on Italy's cheek.

"I'm serious," he used his most serious voice when he said this. Except it sounded suspiciously squeaky to his ears and his damn hips wouldn't stay still. He frowned and tried again, "Not here."

"Your bed or mine?" Italy chirped, rolling off looking ready to take a flying leap into the nearest bedroom, no matter whom it belonged to. With any luck he'd land on Gilbert and Germany would have to go save the little jailbait from his perverted brother.

"No one's bed." Germany managed to sound somewhat forceful. There was not going to be any… _bedding_. At least not during the work day. He cursed his body for getting him into this mess. All he wanted was a bit of relief and now he had a horny Italian clinging to him like a static monkey.

And he was remembering exactly what he had been told about the _appetites_ of Southern Europe.

Italy's bottom lips started to poke out and his eyes got larger. He stopped grinding their bodies together and looked depressed. His ridiculous curl even managed to look dejected. Germany frowned, knowing what was coming.

"Doesn't Germany like me anymore?"

The blond country sighed and managed to sit up. He rolled his eyes a little, knowing what he was about to do would land him in the 'biggest pussy in Europe' book if anyone ever found out. But why not? He'd already been thoroughly humiliated today and Italy was actually trying (succeeding? amazingly enough) to help.

Germany drew the smaller nation closer, being sure to brush softly against that stupid curl. Italy shivered and let out a small whimper but submitted to being held. He didn't look up though, probably still put off about being interrupted so rudely.

Germany placed a soft kiss on his head and muttered, sure he was going to regret it and blushing madly as he did so, "Thank you for the lesson… do you think there could be more?"

The brown haired country's head shot up and he had a silly smile plastered all over his face. "Yes! I can teach Germany everything!"

Gilbert chose that moment to pop his head in, "Hey, West, you got any more booze… woah, teach _what?_ And why wasn't I, in all my awesomeness, invited?"

Germany just hung his head and let it sit on the bouncing Italy's narrow shoulders. All this trouble for just five minutes to himself. He could vaguely hear the two holding a conversation but he thought about the future lessons and fought off more rushing blood before promptly disengaging himself realizing there was a more pressing need.

And he was back where he started. Dammit.


	3. Helmets Required

Title: Helmets Required

Rating: T for language

Characters: America, Canada, AmericaxCanada

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: None

A/N: Because it IS Canada's fault. And because my Canadian friend is having a run of bad luck, so hopefully this cheers her up.

America shivered dramatically and tried to bury himself deeper in his leather bomber jacket. His nose and ears were pink with cold and his glasses had speckles of melted snow on them.

"This is all your fault!" he muttered rebelliously and pointed a finger at Canada. Canada looked shocked and retorted, "I don't control the weather! You can't blame me for a cold front, Alfred."

America considered that and replied miserably, "Well, if you didn't have so much fucking snow, then the wind wouldn't carry the cold down here."

"What—that doesn't even make sense! And it's not that cold, really." Canada protested, looking quite comfortable in his usual hoodie and jeans. His bear was snoozing quietly in his arms, also unaffected by the cold. "Besides, you have cold states, like North Dakota."

"North Dak—oh! Yeah, he's the first victim of your wind and cold! And it's snowing; of course it's cold!" America protested, looking at him like he grew another head. He huffed and added, "And it's all your fault. Just take responsibility and buy me a burger."

"No, I'm not going to buy you a burger because it's cold." Canada sighed. America was acting like a pouty little child. Well, if he was going to be that way, then Canada was going to treat him like one. "Why don't we enjoy the snow instead?"

America's blue eyes peered suspiciously over the rim of Texas, clearly thinking that snow and enjoy should not be in the same sentence. He blew out a stream of breath on his chilled fingers, "Enjoy snow? Doing what?"

"Skiing, snowboarding, sledding… hockey?" Canada replied hopefully. His brother wasn't the greatest at hockey but in the few times they had played he had put up a decent fight. If nothing else, his athletic tendencies and utter bullheadedness seemed to be in his favor.

America's face suddenly went from miserable boredom to something that he might show in response to watching one of his masochistic horror movies.

"What? Oh come on, hockey's not that bad." Canada rolled his eyes, "Are you scared?"

America puffed up and an arrogant look crossed his face. His eyes lit up and he gave a huge thumbs up, "Ahahaha, the hero's never scared! You're on Mattie… there will be protective gear stuff… right?"

"Of course. C'mon, it'll keep you warm, eh?" Canada barely considered his brother's hesitation, assuming it was just because the other nation was cold and sluggish. Well, a few laps on the ice would fix that.

He was dressed and warming up on the ice long before America wobbled to the edge. He looked slightly awkward and uncomfortable on the skates although he looked good in the practice uniform.

Actually, he looked really good in it, Canada considered as he swished the puck back and forth lightly, watching from lowered eyes.

"Aw, fuck!" America swore as he slipped. Flailing slightly, he caught his balance. A red flush crossed his cheeks as he gave a few experimental pushes. Confident he wasn't going to land on his behind, he looked up and gave a beaming grin. "No problem, right? But, uh, could we warm up and practice? I mean, you know, since you look like you need it."

Canada sighed and gave a small smile. In some ways his brother hadn't changed at all since they were kids. It was always Canada who needed to practice and America was just helping him. But he knew arguing was useless because America would just bully him into it anyway. That hadn't changed much either. America was a pushy jerky when he went on a martyr tear, even one so silly as convincing himself that Canada needed his help.

Which he didn't.

At all.

He was perfectly capable of living without a personal hero. Or a professional one, in the case of his country. Especially in the case of his country.

"Put your helmet on and your mouth guard in." Canada reminded him. As much as he'd love to see the looks of surprise and slight terror on America's face, it was safer that he was covered. Canada's mind added a snarky, _wouldn't want to ruin his pretty smile_. The nation swatted that thought aside with an exasperated sigh. Sure he was a little jealous of America's winning smile, since his own shy smiles didn't seem to elect the same responses, but he didn't need to knock America's teeth out over a friendly game. And it had nothing to do with how damn attractive America was when he turned on that mega-watt, maniacal grin.

"Okay." America fumbled around with it a little before Canada lazily skated over to him. A few quick moments and a tug to make sure everything was firm, they were ready.

They practiced for twenty minutes while America slowly remembered how to move on ice. Canada noticed he certainly wasn't shivering now with all the physical exertion, although the shortness of breath certainly didn't hamper his ability to whoop and shout out proclamations of how utterly awesome he was.

That game itself started out innocently enough. Canada played skillfully, only putting out enough effort to keep America from being completely humiliated. He knew that America was a sore loser, and if he felt like he was getting his ass handed to him, he would quit playing and sulk.

It was easy enough to just relax and hold back at first. He found it soothing, feeling none of the usual heat and aggression of a normal hockey game. It was almost like figure skating but without the frills. Well, and the fact that America was lumbering around the ice like a buffalo half the time and sliding like an awkward moose the rest. He wished he had a camera because this would be fantastic blackmail material… if he wanted it to be.

Scoring another easy goal off America, Canada moved to go around and fetch the puck. He shouldn't have been surprised but he was. America suddenly shed his ungainliness and body checked Canada into the rink wall. Both of their bodies shuddered at the impact and Canada tried not to gasp as the wind was knocked from him harshly. America's body pressed against him impeding his movements. He tried to turn around and say something but he was abruptly released.

With an undignified yelp he slid down to sit on the ice and look up.

America was looking down. His face was calm but Canada could see the storm of frustration behind his eyes. A darkness flashed over them before he held a gloved hand out with a false, cheerful apology, "Sorry about that… but you should take me seriously." Canada immediately read into the subtext as _you better take me seriously_.

"And if I don't?" Canada whispered under his breath as he gracelessly took America's offered hand. He almost said it aloud but changes his mind abruptly, "Alfred, let's play."

America backs off a little at the tone and gives him a scrutinizing look. Canada pretends to retrieve the puck, which had skittered off to the side during their little altercation, and watches America's face through the metal guards. He reads the determination and gives a tight smile. Trust his brother to cheat and break a perfectly good atmosphere, not that America could have read it or cared if he was breaking it anyway. Well, he was done being lenient. Maybe Canada wasn't world-renowned and was mostly known for stupid things like Mounties and maple syrup, but he was world-class at hockey. And if America thought his little play-date games of football were preparation then he was sorely mistaken.

Canada ground his mouth guard in anticipation. Oh yes, America would be sore indeed, the egotistical cheater. He narrowed his eyes feeling the blood rush up around him. Normally he didn't mind being meek and mild but the rink was not the place to be submissive. And he was going to teach America to respect him in the one place he ruled over his brother.

"Fuck."

America coughed and sagged clutching his chest for a moment. He looked up with a sandy eyebrow cocked and managed to gasp out, "I think you broke my rib with your elbow."

Canada snorted, "Hardly. I didn't know you were so fragile."

America gave a grin at that. He straightened up and gave an obnoxious laugh, "I'm invincible; you just winded me, that's all!"

Canada knew that it was probably true. Even with the killing intensity he put into retrieving the puck, it was unlikely he would do more than a few bruises and lacerations to the irritating nation before him. It didn't stop him from trying though, or from wanting to do _more_ to shut that laugh up.

America pulled off his helmet letting the soft flakes of snow fall on his bare head. He spit out the mouth guard and gave Canada a clueless smile. "That was fun. I forgot how crazy you get though. Remind me not to get on your bad side, ahahaha!"

Canada wanted to point out that he already _was_ on his bad side. Specifically right this moment. For being so clueless and so egotistical and for that confident, nonsensical laugh. And for quitting in the middle of a game. And for being the favorite, for taking the world stage, for using Canada when it was convenient, and for being just so god damn overbearing that it hurt. And not in a way he would've wanted it to be.

"That game's not over." Canada growled lowly, "Put your helmet back on."

America blinked stupidly for a few seconds before chuckling. He took a few strides forward, closing the distance that Canada had subconsciously put between them, and looked down in amusement. "Don't want to. Are you going to make me?"

There was a satisfying crunch and pop as the flat of Canada's palm struck the bridge of America's nose. America yelped and grabbed as blood poured it. It coated his fingers and dribbled down his chin.

"Jesus, w't w's t't f'r?" America slurred, wide-eyed.

"That's why you wear a helmet Alfred.:" Canada said seriously as he closed the gap between them and carefully pried the other nation's fingers off his nose gently. America leaned back a little but was silent as Canada wiped some of the blood off on his sleeve. He peered at the injury with concentration before striking.

"Oh God!" America screeched and fell back. However, he had forgotten he was on ice and promptly landed on his tail bone, which elected a louder howl. Tears were collecting in the corner of his eyes, and he was whimpering with a mixture of shock and outrage.

"It had to be put back in place." Canada said softly, regretting his actions only a little. He hadn't really meant to break the other nation's nose. He carefully fell down on his padded knees and scooted forward. He did manage not to laugh as America scuttled back on his butt. "Alfred, stop. I'm not going to do anything else. I said I was sorry."

"D'd't." America accused and cleared his throat. "Hurts."

Oh, so he hadn't. Well, maybe that was for the better, since it wouldn't have been sincere anyway.

He took off his helmet, although he was careful to keep his face out of strike range right away in case of retaliation, and leaned forward. He braced one gloved hand against the hard ice and reached out with the other. America flinched slightly as his index finger clumsily swiped the tears out of his left eye then moved to clear the right. He gave a smile and America tentatively returned it.

"Kiss it better?" That damn, obnoxious smile was back, although it was bloodied and painful.

Canada considered for a second before he pressed a quick butterfly kiss to the other's forehead. America groaned and rolled his eyes, "That's not what hurts…"

Canada's next kiss lingered over the dried blood on America's nose. He pulled back questioningly.

"Still hurts… lower…" America demanded.

Canada smirked and planted a chaste kiss on America's lips earning protest. He laughs and pulls away making sure the quietly simmering rage is tucked away. He staggers up and helped America to his feet.

America rolls his eyes, "Lower."

Canada blinks at him, "I'm not kissing your ass just because you fell on it."

"Can I kiss yours then?"


	4. Girl Talk

Title: Girl Talk

Rating: T for language

Characters: Lithuania, Poland, Belarus, various implied pairings and mentions of other countries (cuz Poland is in the know~ ^.~)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: Crack? Human names. Agonizing overuse of the words 'like' and 'totally.'

A/N: Written for another friend who's request was "Poland" and at my brother's prompt of "Belarus." I'm going to start making these requestors beta.

"You're, like, totally crazy Liet. Like totally." Feliks growled and rolled his eyes. He gave the other nation's hand a disgusted poke making Toris yelp. "Didn't you, like, get to see enough of those, like, psychos before?"

Toris blushed, "But—but--."

"Oh, like, quit it. That's so disturbing I, like, might've puked a bit in my mouth, gaah." Feliks groaned and added, "And, you know, she's, like, Russia's _sister_. If you, like, did anything with her, he'd, like, be your _brother-in-law_. And you'd really, totally, be in the family, duh. Do you want to be one with Mother Russia?"

All the color drained from the other nation's face and he looked like he had just swallowed a cyanide pill on accident.

"Betcha forgot about that eenie-weenie detail." Feliks said smugly. "Liet, where would you be without me?"

"I—I don't care."

Felik's eyebrows rose in surprise and he frowned slightly. Sometimes he worried about his friend. The rest of the world, some of the other not-so-sane nations included, had enough sense to run away as fast as possible. He knew Liet was smart and this was totally lame. Which meant his idiot best friend really did dig the psycho, knife-wielding nation.

Felik's sighed and restrained himself from rolling his eyes or flicking Liet's forehead. Instead he grabbed his friend's fingers and looked at them closer.

"Like, I'm no doctor, Liet, but I totally think you've got too many joints going on here!" he tsked and reached for the first aid kit he had brought with him when he heard where Liet had been. He was actually expecting some stab wounds, which would've been really messy. Resetting bones just meant lots of girly shrieking and it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before in their long friendship. Although this did put new meaning to the phrase love hurts.

"She was…" Toris paused to choose a less incriminating word, "Startled."

"Uh-huh."

"She's actually really sweet and pretty."

"Yeah, like, totally in a psycho Alice-in-Wonderland way." Feliks snorted. He supposed the other nation would be pretty if she didn't look like she was going to eat your face off at any given time. And her dress was nice enough he supposed, but she really needed to learn to accessorize. A few tasteful pieces of jewelry would do wonders. Silver would look really nice.

Feliks patiently manipulated the bones in Toris' hand back into the semblance of normal. He could hear Toris' teeth grind and a few whimpers escaped but mostly there was just a heavy silence. He wished his friend would just scream or something because he knew what it was like to have his bones set and it hurt like hell. Then again, maybe it didn't hurt as much as… Felik's face clouded over and he shoved those thoughts aside.

"There. I, like, totally, did a fabulous job," he gave a soft pat over the fingers that looked mummified it had so much wrapping on it and added lightly, "But you won't, like, ever be a hand model again."

"That's okay. I wasn't one in the first place." Toris laughed, "Thank you."

Feliks blushed slightly and looked away, "It's totally what friends do, right? And I'm so your bestest best friend."

"Yes, you are." Toris replied earnestly, "You always have been."

Something tightened in Feliks' chest at Toris' sincerity and the without-a-doubt readiness to dole it out. Irritated by the whole situation he jumped up proclaiming, "As your friend I will totally help you snag that psycho bi—uh, your crush."

"Y-you will?"

"Of course," Feliks preened slightly, ridiculously happy with how his friend perked up.

"How?"

Another silence filled the room, this time pensive. Feliks had no idea how to help Toris at all. In fact, he didn't want to help him. A devious sort of plan formed in his mind. He was sure psycho, incestual witch had no designs on his Liet, but maybe if he could get her and Russia together Liet would give up his silly crush.

"I dunno."

Then inspiration hit.

"I'll totally invite her to lunch for some girl talk."

Liet eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

"No, no, don't worry. I'm totally not into girls, but I, like, can speak their language." The blond said proudly. He did speak fluently girly, which earned him some scoffs from the "manly" nations, but that didn't stop Prussia from sneaking over to get some tips on wooing Hungary. It also provided some really amusing gossip. Guys were no fun about the gossip. Women were so devious about it, really, he was glad there were few female nations. Wars would never be the same if there were more. It'd be like the Cold War again, but more vicious… and probably with some slaps.

"Belarus isn't—your typical girl." Liet tried.

"I know, like, she's totally, utterly, super-amazingly hot and innocent and a dominatrix, cause that's why you, like, totally dig her. I get it. All guys, like, say the same thing. The she ain't just a girl thing, but, like, trust me, they're all the same at the center Liet."

"She is, uh, nice looking and sweet and—wait, I'm not into S&M!"

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not!"

"You totally--!"

The brown haired nation picked up the nearest couch pillow with his good hand and brought it down with a solid thump on Feliks' head, cutting him off. He sat there for a second before grabbing another pillow and smacking his friend across the shoulders. Liet yelped and stumbled forward… only to grab the pillow he dropped and retaliate. The two shouted, giggled, and beat the pillows into submission before falling down exhausted in a heap.

Feliks rested his back against a coffee table leg, wondering how it had survived the onslaught but too tired to really think about it, and gave a smirk. He totally won that fight.

Liet plopped down across his legs with his chest heaving and random giggles escaping before rolling off and laying flush against Feliks' leg and hip. He propped his head up on his good hand, eyes bright and forehead damp with sweat, and looked up with a smile.

"Thank you."

Then Feliks did flick him in the forehead.

* * *

"You're, so totally, not acting cute, you know that?" he grumbled the next day as he sat on Belarus' porch. He knew she was in there because the curtains moved when he knocked. He was tempted to shout out "look, there's, like, Russia and he's totally only wearing a sunflower ala-France!" but he decided that might get him trampled over then eviscerated while he was trying to recover. And he didn't need a boot print over his face. Oh, or a knife in the gut.

Okay, so she wouldn't open the door. He would just have to lure her out. Hmm, what would lure her out besides Russia? He thought about it for a moment before shrugging. He really didn't know. Even though they lived together temporarily, he wasn't paying much attention to anyone else under Russia's roof because he had his own problems. And that was _before_ Russia and Germany decided to play tug-of-war with his territories and government.

"Hey, I, like, know you're in there. You're totally not fooling anyone."

No response.

Plan A sucked. Enter Plan B.

"So, I'm, like, going to makeover your house," he commented brightly and he could already picture how the house would look pink, "But are you, like, a fan of pastels or neons? Because, you know, like, I could totally see you digging pastels. Those are totally happy, right? And the trim could, like, be yellow. Yeah, a nice, like, lemon yellow--."

He fought down a shriek as a blue-and-white blur shot out of the house at him. It came out a terrified yelp and he stumbled back as a knife was held to his throat.

"What do you want; you are annoying," his blond attacker hissed in his ear. She pressed the knife down just hard enough to make Feliks feel his insides liquefy. Looking up he couldn't help but think that maybe could be pretty if she tried. His inner beautician sparked at the challenge.

"Uh, like, chill, will you? That's totally not a polite greeting for your, like, new best friend."

The knife edge nicked his skin and he could feel a small trickle of warm blood traveling down the curves of his throat and dribbling into his collar. He didn't bother to gulp, knowing that would only cut deeper.

"And, I'm so here to help you," he let that sink in before adding, "And, I, like, totally brought you some vodka."

The knife dropped and he got a boot to the back. He caught himself on the side of the exceedingly ugly gray house and smirked. Girls were into bribes. Really, it was a peace offering and not an attempt to get the psycho to loosen up a little. Okay, maybe a bit of the latter too.

"What do you want," she repeated in a low, dangerous growl, "You're trespassing."

"I just, like, thought you'd like some lunch."

"I am only interested in Brother," she sniffed sharply, her eyes narrowed, "You know this, yes?"

"I totally get it. You want to, like, jump his bones."

"Get married!" she hissed. "I am not like that slut America."

"Uh, yeah, like, that too. And he is, like, kinda slutty, isn't he? Yeah, you know, like, this one time Hungary was, like, showing me this video she had involving him and--" Feliks abruptly shut up when he remember who was in the closet at the world conference with America. "And it was totally hot, if, you're into, like, gay porn." He trailed off lamely.

"Vile."

The two stared at each other for a few minutes. This was not going how Feliks expected. Well, he didn't know how he expected it to go, but this was entirely awkward. What else did girls like? Well, he knew Hungary always went on and on and on about how physically attractive she found Austria, personality notwithstanding.

"So, uh, like," he almost bit his tongue in revulsion, "you think Ivan's, uh, hot. Yeah, you could, like, totally tap that."

This time he didn't get time to squeak before a booted foot slammed into the wall next to his crotch. Two slender arms slammed in on either side of his head and Belarus leaned forward menacingly.

"And that's, like, why I'm here!" he added swiftly. Previous encounters had taught him many things, and one of them involved gaining speed that could rival Italy if need be. As much as he loved Liet, he wasn't getting neutered for his sake. "To help you get Russia. He's, like, playing hard to get, right?"

"I am listening."

Feliks was sure there was blood in his shirt now and that didn't make him very happy but he was glad he had gotten some positive attention. Really, why in the world did he think this was going to work? Maybe he was as bad as Liet after the war and had some masochist in him as well.

"Uh, could I, like, come inside?"

Belarus grudgingly opened the door and ushered him in. He was half expecting a glittering collection of knives gracing the walls and shrunken heads in jars or something. However, the inside of the house was just as bland as the outside.

He sat at the table nervously as she inspected his bri—gift. Deeming it sufficient, she disappeared into another room before coming back empty handed. She sat across from him, blue eyes boring into his forehead.

God, this was why she was such a creeper.

"This is why you're, like, such a creeper."

Oops.

"Pardon?" she asked stiffly and stabbed her knife into the table. The blade vibrated softly and Feliks sighed. Why'd he have such a big mouth?

"You're, like, too domineering, you know? Guys don't like chicks that top."

Well, most guys didn't anyway. He could think of a few that probably found it a turn on. But Russia wasn't one of them.

"So you say that I am… overbearing?"

"Like, totally scary. Not like a girl at all." Feliks confirmed with a serious nod. "You're, like, totally intimidating your brother."

"Brother is… afraid?" Belarus said slowly with a confused look. Apparently no one had ever bothered to tell her what a creeper she was before. No wonder Liet's fingers looked like a bad jigsaw puzzle. She needed some serious help in the proper way to act in a relationship.

Not that he was France or anything but even America knew you didn't go around intimidating and hurting—wait… okay, America was a bad, bad example. Actually… too bad he was going out with the other sibling because these two would be a match made in Hell. Major domestic abuse and all that jazz.

"Yeah, like, when he runs away, it's just because he's, like, totally terrified." Feliks nodded again, relaxing.

"I—I did not realize… I just want Brother to love me."

Feliks almost put a hand out to comfort her because he knew she was going to start bawling when she jerked up and slammed her fist into the table.

"Love me _dammit_. Does he not see how he hurts me with his rejection?"

Okay, woah. Intense.

"Well, he is, like, a guy." Feliks said trying to pacify her. He eyed the knife but decided he probably wasn't faster than she was, not to mention he didn't want to get into a kidney-punching, wrestling match on the wooden floor. "Guys can be, like, totally dense sometimes."

"Yes, yes, of course Brother does not realize."

"So, like, can we, like, talk about it? I think that if you do a bit of chilling and whatevs, he might, like, stop running away." Feliks crossed his legs and gave a bit of a smile, "And, you know, smile."

Belarus raised a brow at him and looked sulky. Well, it was better than murderous, if you were into the bratty, unamused look, but that seemed to be Spain's kink, not Russia's.

"Smile."

"No."

"Like, seriously? Cuz you look like Germany, and I totally know Russia's not into him. At all."

Belarus stared at him with her blue eyes wide then they narrowed. She frowned, looking even more like Germany; she just needed that little throbbing vein he got on his forehead…

She bared her teeth at him.

"Meep."

"This is why I do not smile. At least you did not faint. You may have some spine within that cowardice."

"I, like, think you need some practice." Feliks offered diplomatically not admitting he had a thirty second blackout somewhere in there. "In the mirror."

"It broke."

"Okay, let's like totally try this thing I learned from China."

Belarus' face darkened at the name. Oh, yeah, that's right. Well, that was history now and they were looking towards the future.

"Like, focus. I want you to, like, close your eyes, you know?"

He waited until she did so before adding in a smooth voice, "Now, like, think of something you, like, like. You know, like, candy or something. Not your brother. Put yourself some place that is totally chill."

Her forehead crinkled before smoothing out and she took a deep breath. He muttered a few more soothing instructions, noticing how her muscles relaxed. Whatever she was imagining was working wonders. He was curious but didn't ask. That would ruin it.

"Now, like, smile."

A small, blissful smile crossed her relaxed face. It slowly spread as she gained confidence. Her cheeks were rosy and her blond hair softened her face further. Yup, he had been right. She could be a real knock-out if she wasn't such a creeper. With ugly clothes.

"Okay, like, open your eyes. Slowly. But don't, like, forget to relax and think happy."

He was ready. When her eyes opened enough he realized she was stunning. He quickly clicked the shutter and leapt back before she could bisect him. She looked unhappy and stared at the camera.

"No breaking it, okay? Japan, like, gave it to me as a present. No breaking _because_ Japan gave it to me either," he added remembering that she wasn't very impressed with the short Asian nation. Well, it was probably a little more than just a jealous reaction on her part for Japan, unlike China and America.

She peered curiously at herself on the screen. It really was a nice digital camera and he wanted to go print out some pictures immediately but knew she probably didn't have a printer.

"That is me?"

"Yes, you're, like, hot when you're not scary."

She admired the picture a little bit longer before turning worshipping eyes on Feliks. Somehow he found this even more unnerving than when she was trying to gut him and tried to go sit down. She grabbed his wrist in a death grip and whispered, "Can you make me pretty for Brother?"

Feliks give her his most confident, cocky smile and assure her that he would make Russia look twice but in return could she do him a favor…?

* * *

"Oh, wow, is that really Belarus?" Liet asked, awe-struck. He was mesmerized by the porcelain doll in the lace and ruffles. Instead of her usual blue, Feliks had her decked out in warm yellows and creams that complimented her completion and hair. Belarus had a sweet smile on her face and her blue eyes twinkled with sanity. Somehow even the knife was missing from the picture.

"I dare Russia to run away now. I, like, totally schooled the creeper out of her." Feliks said smugly and then remembered who he was saying it too. He risked a quick glance at Liet's face and sighed, "Sorry Liet. I, like, forgot you're still crushing. I was, like, speaking girly there, so, like, just ignore it."

"She did send me a nice get well soon note with some flowers." Liet replied wistfully and Feliks pretended to act surprised. Actually, he was a little bit surprised. He had requested that she give Liet the time of day, but that was a really nice touch. "And a threat saying if I ever touched her again it wouldn't be my fingers crushed… it'd be my vital region."

"I'm, like, sorry." Feliks told his friend with a small pat on the back and he was surprised to find he actually was a little sorry. The last few weeks had revealed the side of Belarus that Liet had been the only one to see at first. And if he were into chicks, he might've been crushing too. "I, uh, have another girl talk lunch set for next week. I could, like, totally slip in a good word for you."

Liet gave a small smile, "As if you haven't been already?"

Feliks blushed slightly at the accusation and pretends to fiddle with his hair.

"I've known you since we were small." Liet continued fondly and gently. "You can't fool me."

"Yeah, well, like, she's just not that into you."

"I guess not." Liet gave another wistful smile, which saturated his whole face in melancholy lines, "But I'm glad she has a friend as good as you now. I think she is lonely."

Feliks blushed harder this time before launching a sneak attack with his fingers. He dug into Liet's side, knowing exactly what made the other nation giggle out of control, and pressed his advantage. Liet doubled over, laughing and swatting weakly, and Feliks was proud to have such a strong friend.


	5. Who the Hell Do You Think You Are

Title: Who the Hell do You Think You Are

Rating: T for language

Characters: England, America, Japan

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the concept behind Hetalia, nor the countries themselves. This is a fanwork and not for profit.

Warnings: Potentially disturbing cephalopod reference…

A/N: Based on this link: http:// telegraph. co. uk/news/uknews/1572168/The-new-face-of-Britain-Flag-poll-results. Html …which is totally awesome!

England was enjoying a quiet day off. It was surprisingly nice outside, so he was sitting in his small garden reading and sipping tea. His phone buzzed a few times making him sigh in exasperation. Nothing like technology to ruin some perfectly good peace and quiet.

He stared at the text for a good minute in a half, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Trust America to send a completely incomprehensible message.

Eventually he gave up trying to figure out what it said past 'hey artie!' and clicked the link with trepidation. The last time he had blindly trusted a texted link, he ended up with some mental trauma. And he was never trusting anything from Prussia ever, ever, ever again, since the ex-nation was obviously still holding a grudge. And the mental image of some random fanart showing Austria and a large cephalopod in a compromising position was now burned into his retinas. Really, Japan did not need to spread his perversion globally; one ate their food, not played with it sexually.

The link opened and he peered down. And scowled.

He peered back at America's text and made out the words 'awwsum' and 'who da hell do u tink u r?!!'

England calmly set down the phone because gentlemen did not go throwing infernal machines around, even if they were secretly torture devices wielded by the ignorant masses, and went inside to his computer. He had an email to write and he knew the other nation was much more likely to receive his complaints over the web than the phone.

The lad was just heading in a bad direction all together.

Dear Japan,

I would like to begin this letter with a pleasant introduction and polite chit-chat, however, I am simply too aggravated to contemplate the weather right now. America sent me a link today of a vote to redesign my beautiful flag. This, while offensive enough, is not the issue at hand. I would like to know why your influence is all over my flag. I simply do not understand what the comments below the results mean (such as 'ROW ROW FIGHT DA POWAH' and 'Don't believe in yourself! Believe in the Queen who believes in you!', which given my lack of knowledge about the concept in generally, I believe to be a slur against my royalty?) but you are the only country where this could have originated. It is very much one of your silly cartoons, is it not?

I understand that there is nothing that you in particular can do, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that your influence is not appreciated, especially when America takes it up.

Sincerely,

A miffed England

He was not surprised that half way through his second cup of comfort tea his email pinged a reply.

England-san,

I apologize that this has upset you so deeply. It is in reference to an anime called Tengen Toppa _Gurren Lagann, which is one of mine. I do have to admit that I find the design pleasing however._

_Sincerely,_

_Japan_

_While England hadn't expected a cascade of apologies he felt a little let down. He was beginning to fear that any respect other nations had once held for him was draining._

_His phone buzzed again and he reluctantly picked it up._

_'Ahahaha, did u c it? JEALOUS!'_

_That bloody git would be._


	6. Not Hollywood

**Title: **Not Hollywood  
**Author: **eveliens/eeevee  
**Characters/Pairings: **CameroonxBelarus, America, a few other FIFA nations  
**Rating: **PG  
**Warnings:** Vague time frame… set somewhere after the fall of the USSR when Belarus was America's "little sister" and now. Uh, and author has no knowledge of soccer.

**A/N: **Didn't have much to go on for Cameroon, so I based him off a classmate from Senegal (I know, not quite the same place, but that's how close I could get) combined with info off the CIA fact sheet. Written for Contest Crackship at: community. livejournal. com/ crackship_aph

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Belarus glanced up from her newspaper at the annoying, rhythmic hits. She sniffed and turned the page crisply, but continued to peer across the field from under her lashes. She had, quiet firmly, expressed her disinterest in sports, especially this one. It was not quite as bad as some of the other sports, American football came to mind, but she still had no interest in men playing mock war games with an inflated sphere.

The ball smoothly bounced from cleated foot to foot, the white stockings flashing against the green field.

With a bored sigh, she stared a hole in the newspaper. She did not know why she indulged America so; he was over-excitable, annoying, eager, and vexing. Unfortunately, he was also stubborn in addition to all of those qualities. Hence the reason she was here watching a preliminary game of nations. The idiot in question was running around the far side of the field having a glorious time getting in everyone's way and had completely forgotten he insisted she come with him.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

This time she glared at the source of the noise. She understood that this was a playing field, but that metered racket was grating on her already sore nerves. Something about measured and precise beats bothered her; perhaps it was the stability, which she was not well acquainted with, or maybe it was just too much noise when she was trying to concentrate.

"Could you please move? You are making it difficult to read."

The noise stopped and she refused to look up as foot steps approached where she was sitting. The top of her paper rustled and dark fingers pressed against the thin pages.

"What're you reading?"

Startled, because that was not the response she was expecting, Belarus looked up into dark black eyes obscured slightly by practical glasses. With a slightly undignified yelp, she automatically reached for one of the knives hidden on her person before relaxing with a haughty sniff.

"It's in Russian," the other nation said, his voice deep and smooth.

"Yes. You can read it?"

His serious face quirked into a small smile, "No."

She stared at his face, noticing the angular cheekbones, dark and strong, so unlike the European faces she was used to seeing. The dark eyes were different, not like the Asian nations, and the short dark hair was tidy and neat.

He tossed the ball down and planted a foot on it easily.

"You're Belarus, right? America was talking about you."

She pursed her lips, "He speaks frequently and without thought."

A deep chuck reverberated from the other nation's chest. He shifted back, giving her a good glimpse of the muscles lean and taunt beneath his uniform.

"But he says nice things sometimes." The nation replied easily, "By the way, I'm Cameroon." She warily shook his hand, surprised at the warmth and strength that wrapped around her cool, delicate fingers.

There was a moment of silence stretching between them before a shout from across the field. Cameroon gave a quick, bright smile, white teeth shining against a dark face, before picking up the ball and heading in the direction of the other players.

He stopped after a few steps, "Would you like to go to lunch with me after the game? I know I'll be starving, and I'm sure you'll be hungry too."

Belarus' eyes narrowed as she searched his face for ulterior motives.

"If you were going with America, that's okay. Just thought I'd ask," he added innocently.

On the outside she did not change but internally she could not help a small flinch. She could not take any more McDonalds.

"I accept."

"Great. Do you mind French food or have a preference for something else?"

She watched his face, realizing that she could place his accent. Ah, it was another one of those nations that were an unholy combination of British and French imperialistic rule. Luckily for him, he seemed to have very little influence on his personality from the two overbearing European nations. Which was very fortunate for him because her last encounter with France involved lots of bleeding and howling; it was very difficult to get French blood out of her white skirt.

"That is satisfactory."

He gave another bright smile and she could not help being fascinated by the contrast. When her brother smiled, his teeth blended with his snow-white complexion. Involuntarily she started noticing the other differences. Of course, there was the obvious: Cameroon was not as tall as brother, was dark and thin yet somewhat stocky as well, his hair was coarse and short. But there were differences in his manner as well. Stability rolled off him gently, something Belarus was not personally well acquainted with, and something she did not expect, since she knew of the political and civil upheaval tearing most of Africa apart. He appeared to be open and considerate and, well, sane. Not that her brother was not; yet, there were moments, especially in the past, where Belarus had been forced to grapple with the unpleasant notion that Brother was broken.

She growled to herself and resolved to see Brother as soon as America let her… which, she conceded, was not likely to be soon. America was exceedingly vexing in his attempts to thwart her efforts and true love and marriage. She truly did not care about the two and their pissing contest, although she took Brother's side of course.

In the meantime it could not hurt to… be sociable, as America called it. It could not hurt to have contacts in another continent in today's global world. Perhaps she should make some efforts towards forging new alliances for Brother.

She finished the paper and neatly folded it and set it to the side. For a few moments she simply closed her eyes and enjoyed the day. It was not too warm to be uncomfortable but there was a breeze blowing and the sun was only occasionally blocked by wispy white clouds.

A particularly loud cheer went up where the game was being played. America was exuberantly giving Holland and Denmark double high fives while Japan and Cameroon silently watched the idiots' displays of victory.

"It was just one goal, America-san…" Japan's even, small voice floated to her. Cameroon warned seriously, "Don't get too excited now. I hate to crash the ego-party you three are having, but there's more to go."

Belarus tried not to watch. She watched the bees buzzing around merrily in the clovers; she watched the birds flit from branch to branch in the trees that bordered the field; she watched ants crawl across her dress. But eventually her eyes were tracking the fast-paced game before her and before she realized it she was across the field watching silently, hidden halfway under the bleachers. Even the cheers and bench pounding above her hardly caught her notice as she watched the athletic figures, one in particular not that she would admit it, dash and swerve across the green in pursuit of the ball.

"Oh, you moved. Are you enjoying the game?" Cameroon asked, huffing slightly and patting his neck with a towel. He looked charged and absurdly happy to have been running around vigorously for the last hour or so.

"The sun was too hot," she replied with a light flush. He leaned forward to inspect her pink cheeks, "Yeah, looks like you've got a bit of a sunburn going there. I guess your skin is very fair. We should get some sunblock for later, right? I mean, after lunch."

"The game is not finished?"

"No. It was getting a little too intense, so we're taking a lunch break. Actually, I was hoping that Denmark would have a drink or two to take his edge off. It's hard to go all out if you're afraid you might get a Viking axe to the back or at the very least a kidney punch."

"So you did not win?"

He blinked then smiled, "You don't know much about sports, do you?"

"No. I find them frivolous and supercilious." Belarus said seriously.

"Ah, maybe watching isn't any fun, but playing is very enjoyable. Plus, everyone likes winning, don't they? Winning with a team is even better because you know it's not just your own skill but everyone's that earned you victory."

"Hmm. Then sports are a social obligation?" Belarus had never thought of it that way. The other nations did look like they were enjoying running after a ball like an unruly pack of dogs. Perhaps there was more to this than she had previously thought. "Where you build trust and form alliances?"

"And have fun." Cameroon added, "Well, mostly. Sometimes it gets too serious."

"Like the Olympics?"

"Yes, and championship cups. There are some intense rivalries and it can get ugly. But a little, informal game like this… it's just for fun."

"Then are you winning?"

A dark look flashed across his face before he dispelled it with a sheepish shrug, "No, we're losing. Badly. America and Denmark aren't very skillful but they're aggressive and strong… Japan's a good goalie, but it's hard to block those kicks. It really helps that we have Italy and Germany on our team, but they have Spain, so it's not really an even match. Plus, Brazil couldn't make it, so we're a team member short. He would've made a huge difference and evened the playing field."

"Teach me." Belarus demanded abruptly surprising herself and Cameroon. He jumped then scratched his cheek a few times in thought. A wide grin broke out across his face, "I'd love to but you can't play in such a pretty dress. It'd get dirty and you'd trip."

She glared at the insinuation that she was useless porcelain doll and he gulped.

"Then you shall find me appropriate clothing and then you will teach me. I wish to join your team." Belarus said firmly while her mind screamed nononowhat'reyoudoing? Seeing his sly grin and realizing exactly what her change of heart looked like, she hastened to add, "America is too boastful. A small loss might put him in his place."

"Doubtful." Cameroon chuckled, "The boy has an ego that rivals the great and awesome Prussia, right?"

Belarus' lip curled in distaste at the mention of _that_ filthy ex-nation. He was foul and boastful and arrogant.

"Right. I'll be back in a second."

Belarus settled back into the shade of the bleachers, watching as the teams broke up for lunch and break. Holland and Denmark were pounding each others backs and generally making a racket like a pair of delinquent monkeys; Italy was dragging an exasperated Germany towards what was probably the only Italian restaurant in the area with Japan following quietly behind them; America was… right in her face.

Without thinking she slashed towards the intruder and he jumped back with a laugh. Rubbing the back of his head, he apologized, "Sorry about that. I forgot how jumpy you are! Anyway, I was going to go get some burgers and I know you haven't eaten since breakfast. Doyouwanttogowithmetoeat?" He gave a hopeful grin, waiting for the answer.

It took a second to process the request.

"No. I have other plans."

"You do?"

"She does." Cameroon rumbled behind her. This time she was more aware and did not jump, although America did and banged his thick skull into the lower metal steps. He rubbed gently, muttering a few words under his breath, before giving a lopsided, disappointed smile, "Oh, okay. Just asking. The hero needs to make sure the lady isn't left alone, ahahaha."

"She won't be." Cameroon said, patiently holding a bag in each hand. "You better go eat and gain your strength. You'll need it for the second half of the game."

"Is that a threat?" America teased, immediately brightening, "Because I think the scoreboard is telling us who the real winners are going to be!"

"Ha," Cameroon scoffed nonchalantly, looking unimpressed, "Not with our secret weapon."

"Secret weapon?"

"Yes."

"Oooh, what secret weapon?" Belarus was not surprised at the look of utter fascination and intrigue on the other nation's face; America was a notorious busybody and loved secrets.

"If I told you it would not longer be a secret, so you'll just have to wait and see."

"Fine, be that way." America's cheeks puffed out in frustration and Belarus tried not to roll her eyes or compare him to a rodent.

"I will. Go eat America."

Belarus waited until the superpower was well down the way before saying dryly, "You handle America well."

"Practice. I have a lot of uppity neighbors and siblings, not to mention all the European nations that came knocking on my door over the centuries. America is actually fairly easy in comparison."

Belarus was not sure about that but did not argue. Instead she watched silently as he pulled out a spare uniform, some cleats, a bottle of sunblock and various food items from the bags. Grabbing the clothing, she went to change. She was surprised that despite the ugly colors on the uniform that it fit fairly well, if a little too snug around the chest area. Then again, that was to be expected considering it was intended for a male. The shoes were a little loose but she supposed that was better than tight, which would give her blisters. She tucked her hair up into a tight bun to get it out of the way.

"Wow, you look much different in uniform. It's a nice change."

She accepted the compliment. Many people had said similar things when she had worn her military uniform. Brother had never complimented her on it though, so she did not wear it often.

"Okay, eat first, then we'll go over the basics."

The lunch was simple with bread, cheese, fruit, and nuts, but it was much better than the artery-clogging fuel America had proposed. And it was perfect to ensure they weren't too full for exercise but had plenty of energy to play with.

"See, like this."

She tried to copy his move and accidentally kicked her own ankle. Growling in frustration, she tried a second time without much more success. He let her try a few more times before sliding up behind her.

"No, you're putting too much force into it. Here," he gently encompassed her body and used his arms to reposition her hips and shoulders, "Do it at this angle and it'll work better."

She shrugged out of his arms sharply and tried the move again without a word. To her secret delight it worked. She tried it a few more times before he showed her another. There were a few more times where he physically showed her how and she found herself relaxing as his big hands guided her movements.

"You learn quickly." Cameroon gave an easy smile, "I'm impressed."

"This is quite simple once you are shown." She replied panting lightly and added with a chin tilt, "Especially with a competent teacher."

His skin was too dark to see the blush, but Cameroon grinned shyly and bent down to pick up the ball. In response, Belarus struggled to hide her own blushing, wondering exactly what she was doing. It had been a long time since she had shown interest in anyone other than Brother.

"Heeeey!" America came barreling up with a paper sack in one hand and a soda in the other. He stopped and looked at Belarus. A million watt smile stole across his face, "You look great! Are you going to play too? Oh—you're the secret weapon!"

Belarus was torn between sighing at his insight and feeling appreciative of his acceptance. Yes, America was not nearly as dense as was assumed; he was tricky and manipulative. It was very annoying to be on the receiving end of the paradoxical feelings he raised in everyone he met.

"Yup, and you're going down." Cameroon said seriously, "Just you wait."

He punted the ball towards Belarus and she deftly caught it. America just stared for a moment and said something that sounded suspiciously like 'okay but no knives on the playing field!'

The game commenced when everyone returned from lunch. It was much more laid-back than the first half with less shouting and whooping. Belarus could not tell if it was because the players were full of lunch or if it was because suddenly they were concentrating a whole lot harder.

"America, this isn't your football; you don't tackle people, _amigo_." Spain laughed as America sheepishly removed himself from a disgruntled Germany, "Ahaha, sorry! But you were saying football, yeah I know _fútbol_, and… it was habit, okay?"

Despite herself, Belarus realized she was enjoying herself immensely. It was not that she got to cut people off, steal the ball, or feel the satisfaction of a goal… it was just… fun.

"We have tied the game with hard work but now we will finish this." Germany barked at the group huddle. Italy chirped excitedly, hanging off his arm like an oversized accessory. "This will be the deciding play, so we need to show them that we will take this victory!"

The air was tense as they all took the field. Of course, the other team knew this was the deciding play as well. And no one wanted to lose or let their team down. Belarus briefly marveled at how… favorably… she viewed her teammates. These were nations she would have paid no mind to whatsoever before.

America and Denmark snagged the ball quickly, kicking it back and forth between them and bullying anyone who got in their way. America gave the ball a hard kick, sending it flying down the field towards Spain. The other nation had a lazy grin on his face but Belarus knew that he was the strongest member on their team. If the ball met its target they could very well lose within an instant.

She sped to intercept it. She was not very handy with the footwork yet, but she was easily the quickest person on her team and in the perfect position to block the ball. Stretching forward, she leapt and knocked the ball away from Spain. Stumbling a little, she glanced up to see Italy take up the slack. The small, ditzy nation handled the ball with a blissful smile, dancing around Holland and passing it to Cameroon.

With a blur of skilled moves, Cameroon made his way towards the opposite goal. With one last, powerful kick, the ball went hurdling towards the goal. It slammed into the net with a sharp swish and noise erupted around them.

"Noooooo!"

"Yes, we won!"

"Ve, ve, ve~!"

"Well, that sucks."

Belarus felt her own heart lift in victory and could not help giving a small smile of pleasure at how ridiculous her teammates were acting. Or how whiny the other team was, especially America and Denmark.

Suddenly strong arms enclosed her waist and lifted her up, spinning her around a few times. She staggered dizzily into the solid body once she hit the ground, groping for her knife, no matter what America had said before.

"Sorry, did I scare you? I was just so excited! We won, didn't we? That's worth getting excited for!" Cameroon whooped breathlessly, steadying her. He peered down and she made a show of straightening her shirt, which was now tight in highly inappropriate places and showing a peek of skin above the elastic of her shorts.

"It is fine. I was merely startled. I did not expect to be going skyward." Belarus replied slowly, testing out the words. He still had not let go of her and she was too focused on the warm skin braced against her shoulder and another warm patch on her upper arm.

"It was all thanks to your terrific block that we won!"

"You shot the goal."

"True, and Italy passed it to me, so we're all victorious. I told you it was fun when the whole team wins didn't I?"

"So you did."

"So are you up for a victory dinner?" Cameroon asked suddenly shy and added, "With the team of course…"

"Yes, I suppose so."

The two stood there awkwardly before Cameroon chuckled, "This certainly isn't America's Hollywood version, is it? Other than the perfect goal winning the tied game at the last minute I mean."

"Oh, America has made me watch several 'chick flicks' and I believe that this would be the part where I swoon into your arms and profuse my undying love. Or perhaps enthusiastically throw myself into your arms and kiss you senseless? I will be doing neither of those things."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Good, then you and I shall get along."

"But I am going to ask you to sit next to me during dinner."

"Acceptable."

"And possibly ask for another dinner later on."

"Also acceptable."

"And maybe a ki--."

A wolf whistle followed by a cat call cut him off and the pair turned to look at the audience that had gathered around them. Japan and Germany were pretending to be holding a conversation, while glancing out of the corner of their eyes. Spain and Italy had wide, sappy grins plastered across their faces. Holland and Denmark had huge grins while America was frowning slightly with his arms folded over his chest.

Cameroon mouthed 'later' to her and walked up to Denmark and Holland with a grin. He gave each of the idiots a punch and sauntered off. Belarus hid a smile; that certainly saved her some trouble, although she had always thought perhaps severing the pair from their raging testosterone would be a blessing.

America sidled up to her, "What's going on?"

"Do not pretend to be dense."

He gave her a serious look, "As your big brother, I don't know if I can just give you away like that."

"You are not my brother. It is not your decision."

"Well, I'm protecting you in your brother's place. I'm the hero after all." America reminded her and she gave a small growl. She did not need to be reminded of America's infatuation with her brother, no matter what form it took. When he added a hopeful 'so you give up on him?' she slipped a knife out from under her stockings and held it meaningfully.

After America had backed off she tucked the knife away. It was true she had not given up on Brother, but… well, it would not hurt to keep her options open, as Hollywood would say.


End file.
